


Pierce the Skies

by randomwriter57



Series: Sormik Week 2017 [1]
Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Archery, Canon Compliant, Gen, Mostly Gen, Sormikweek2017, i mean sorey's a bit gay if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 09:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11575668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomwriter57/pseuds/randomwriter57
Summary: Archery has never been Sorey's strong suit. Lucky for him, Mikleo has a knack for it.





	Pierce the Skies

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm Random and I've been lurking in the shadows long enough. Here's my first foray into the Zestiria fanfic world!  
> Actually that's a lie - I've been writing sormik fic for months, but I decided to post now since it's Sormik Week! I'm super excited to share my writing and to see what everyone else has created.  
> This fic came from an experience I had with trying archery, but that doesn't mean everything in here is entirely accurate ^^" I hope it's still enjoyable anyway!
> 
> Written for [Sormik Week 2017](http://sormikweek.tumblr.com/), day one - Elysia: Innocence/Beginnings.

The first arrow Sorey fires lands two metres in front of him. With a loud _thwack_ , it strikes the ground, startling the poor prickleboar which was once his prey.

He watches it retreat, his tiny hands gripping the wood of his makeshift bow with a force that might be enough to splinter, were he not so young. He feels tears well up in his eyes, and though he knows there’s no need to cry, he can’t help but feel disappointed in himself.

Kyme kneels down beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Sorey. That wasn’t bad, for your first shot.”

“But I missed,” Sorey sniffles.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Kyme says. “There are plenty more prickleboars here. Do you want to try another one?”

Had he not felt so guilty, he might have given up for the day. So far it doesn’t feel like he’ll ever be any good at hunting with a bow and arrow. Besides, he wants to know what Mikleo’s being taught right now, in the lesson he apparently wasn’t allowed to attend. If it’s something they needed to be separated for, it must be some secret seraphic magic, right?

(Mikleo will tell Sorey everything he’s taught as soon as they’re reunited, of course. That’s how it always is, between them. All the seraphim in the village know that there is not a secret kept between the two children.)

Eventually, Sorey nods and lets Kyme lead him to a different group of bushes, facing a small clearing where a prickleboar sniffs at the ground, unaware of their presence. As he was taught, Sorey raises his bow in his right hand, carefully slotting the arrow in place and holding the weapon up with quivering hands. His stubby fingers clench the string as if letting go would send the arrow flying backwards towards himself.

“Look along the arrow to aim,” Kyme reminds him.

Sorey does so, setting his sights on the prickleboar. With his prey targeted, he draws back the arrow as much as he can. The problem with being so young, however, is that his bow is too big for his arms, and he isn’t able to get the full draw back on the string. When he releases the arrow, it acts much the same as the last - weakly floating for a few metres before stabbing the ground.

“You’ll get it eventually,” Kyme says, patting his shoulder lightly. “It takes time and practice, is all.”

Sorey doesn’t want to practice, though. The bow and arrow looks cool, sure, but he can already hunt with traps and the ceremonial sword he found when exploring the Mabinogio Ruins with Mikleo. Really, there shouldn’t be any reason he needs to learn to use a bow and arrow at all.

Before Kyme can suggest they try again, the sound of someone running towards them catches Sorey’s attention. He drops his weapon, turning to face the newcomer with a grin. “Mikleo!”

“Sorey,” Mikleo says, panting a little as he comes to a stop. “You’ll never believe what I just learnt!”

“Now, Mikleo,” Kyme says. His tone is not at all annoyed - in fact, he seems endeared by the children’s behaviour. “Sorey is in the middle of his own lesson.”

“Can Mikleo join?” Sorey asks. At least if Mikleo is here, it won’t feel so bad to not be able to use a bow and arrow. After all, Mikleo might not be able to use it either.

For a moment, Kyme considers it, before nodding. “I don’t see why not.”

It takes a few minutes for him to explain everything to Mikleo, taking care to flip the instructions to suit him as someone who is left-handed. When he finishes his explanation, he steps away from Mikleo to check his posture.

Sorey is entranced.

Mikleo looks like he is meant to use a bow and arrow. In the afternoon light, filtered through the leaves above them, he stands with a height taller than the trees, head held high and eyes piercing their prey as though they themselves are the arrow. His hands do not waver on the bow, though he too struggles to draw it back to its full potential. Sorey has always thought that Mikleo looks mature for his age (which is incredibly young, especially for a seraph), but in this position, he looks divine. Today, he is something Sorey cannot live up to.

Slowly, Mikleo draws back the arrow, then fires it.

It misses. But only barely.

“That was amazing, Mikleo,” Kyme says, patting him on the back. “You’ll become a fine archer.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to do it?” Sorey asks, feeling hopeful. “If Mikleo can do it, then he can hunt food with the bow and I’ll set some traps and get firewood.”

Kyme laughs at the suggestion, and tries to word his answer as nicely as he can. “There might come a time when you also need to use a bow, Sorey. We just want to make sure you’re prepared.”

Sorey is pretty sure there won’t be a time when he needs to use a bow and arrow when Mikleo isn’t with him. Even when he gets to explore the ruins in the world below, Mikleo will be there beside him, and they can probably hunt without a bow and arrow anyway, right?

Turning to face him, Mikleo grins. “Guess I win this round.”

“I’ll win next time, for sure!”

The two kids end up running back to the village without getting any more practice with the bow, and Kyme can’t find it in himself to be mad. They’re kids, after all. They might as well enjoy their childhood whilst they can.

When they enter the gate into Elysia, Mikleo drags Sorey in the direction of the house they share, ignoring the semi-questioning, semi-amused glances of the seraphim around the village. The moment they get inside, Mikleo closes the door behind him, his lips split in a grin.

“You wanna know what that lesson was about?”

Sorey nods enthusiastically. “Duh! Tell me everything!”

Falling into cross-legged sitting positions in front of the hearth, the boys huddle together as Mikleo begins to speak.

“Apparently we seraphim get these things called true names,” Mikleo says. “They’re really special! Gramps had to do some sort of arte to give me mine.”

“Woah,” Sorey says. “That sounds so cool! Can I get one?!”

Mikleo’s face falls a little, and he shakes his head. “Gramps said humans don’t need them.”

Despite Mikleo’s downtrodden expression and his own pang of disappointment, Sorey smiles. “Hey, it’s cool! So you have one, now?”

“Yeah. Gramps said true names are super special, and that I can’t tell anyone mine.” Before Sorey can even think to feel sad about not being allowed to know Mikleo’s true name, Mikleo leans forward with a conspiratorial grin. “You wanna know what it is, right?”

“Of course I do!”

“Hmm, I don’t know if I should tell someone who can’t even shoot a bow right…”

“Mikleo!”

“Maybe I won’t tell you.”

“Come on, tell me!”

Sorey launches forward, but Mikleo expects the attack. He blocks Sorey’s hands, then tries to reach his own towards Sorey’s abdomen. Sorey manages to reach past him, and the tickling ensues. Laughter fills the house as Mikleo wriggles under Sorey’s touch, both boys almost forgetting the conversation they’d been having in lieu of their tickle war.

Eventually, though, Sorey’s attack dies down, and both boys lie on the floor of the hut, breathing heavy. Everything is suddenly very quiet.

“Luzrof Rulay,” Mikleo whispers.

Gasping, Sorey sits up, staring wide-eyed at his friend. “Is that…?”

“You know what it is.” Mikleo gives Sorey a mock punch, though he smiles as he does it.

Sorey can’t bring himself to do anything other than stare, his lips mouthing the name silently.

“You can say it, you know,” Mikleo says.

So he does.

“Luzrof Rulay.”

The name feels perfect on his lips, perfect for the boy sitting next to him. The moment it passes his lips, he feels his connection with Mikleo grow stronger, somehow. He doesn’t really understand it, not when he’s so young and still has so much to learn. Still, cherishes it in his heart, a true link to Mikleo. A secret for the two of them.

 

* * *

 

It soon becomes clear that Sorey is not meant to be the archer of the pair. Even as he grows older and taller, his aim is still awful, and his hands shake whenever he draws the bow. Add the fact that Sorey does not enjoy his archery lessons, and the fact becomes reality.

Mikleo, on the other hand, is a natural. He soon becomes more than proficient in bow skills, hunting many of their meals with his own bow and arrow. The older seraphim can’t help but joke that it’s fitting, considering the difference in the children’s dispositions. Mikleo is straightforward, his mind always set on one thing. Sorey always has a mind filled with various possibilities, one which often strays away from his train of thought. Despite his young age, Mikleo has already found an answer without the bowstring of his heart wavering. It’s rather impressive, actually.

In the end, Sorey decides not to carry on with archery lessons, instead perfecting the other methods of hunting he knows - mainly smacking prickleboars around with his sword. That doesn’t mean he stops going to the lessons when he can, however, if only to watch Mikleo. He remains as mature and sophisticated as ever when he draws the bow, eyes focused on his target with pinprick precision. Sorey hasn’t seen him miss a shot in years.

He’s enthralled.

One afternoon, Mikleo is hunting as Sorey backs him up, though he’s mostly there to carry the load back to Elysia when he’s done. The afternoon light filters through the trees, shining on his face, but not enough to obscure his vision. With his back to Sorey, head facing forward, he draws the string back, aims, fires.

_Thud_.

“Nice shot,” Sorey says. “That makes four now.”

Mikleo lowers his bow, turning to face Sorey. “Four prickleboars for me, and none for you. I’m eating like a king tonight.”

“Hey! I can hunt prickleboars just fine! I just don’t want one of your shots to hit me.”

“Are you doubting my aim?”

“No way!”

The two of them laugh. A moment later, Sorey hauls himself up, moving over to the prickleboar. He retrieves the arrow, laying it on the ground before heaving the boar onto his back and taking it over to where the other three lie. When he turns around again, it is to see Mikleo examining the bloodied arrow, twirling it between his fingers with a delicate touch.

“Would you ever want to try archery again?” Mikleo asks.

“It’s not like I was much good at it,” Sorey says, scratching the back of his head. “Maybe if I was, then I would.”

Mikleo looks up from the arrow. “I could try helping you, you know.”

Sorey shrugs. He’s had Mikleo give him advice before, but he still can’t improve much. “I mean, I guess.”

“Come on, let’s try it now.”

Giving in, Sorey joins Mikleo, facing a tree with a sturdy trunk. Mikleo passes the bow to Sorey, who automatically gets into position, muscle memory from his lessons.

“Your posture is weird,” Mikleo says, moving closer to correct him. For a moment, Sorey becomes the arrow, moved by Mikleo’s touch into a more accurate position. It strains his back a little, and he can already feel his arms getting tired, but he perseveres.

“Is this okay?”

Mikleo hums, pulling out a fresh arrow and anchoring it to the string for him from Sorey’s right side, facing the bow. He then moves to stand behind Sorey’s back, examining his posture once more. “Your hand is shaking.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice.” He tries to still his quivering hand, but nothing happens. The bow still shudders under its touch, yearning for its usual master.

With a sigh, Mikleo puts his hand over Sorey’s on the bow, using his other to lift his right elbow a tad higher. His arms only barely bend when stretched across Sorey’s wingspan, something he decides not to comment on, knowing he’ll most likely get doused in water for his teasing.

“Aim for the tree,” Mikleo says.

He does. Or at least, he tries to.

“Pull the arrow back.”

He does. Mikleo’s hands remain where they are, supporting him.

“Now.”

He lets go.

Dully, the arrow pierces the ground a metre to the left of the tree. Mikleo’s hands fall away as Sorey lets his own arms drop, his grip on the bow tight.

“That’s better than before,” Mikleo says. “But I won’t be able to support you every time you shoot an arrow.”

“Well, that’s why you do the aiming, then,” Sorey says, turning to him with a grin. “You can handle the long-range attacks!”

Mikleo smirks. “Or maybe I’ll stick to my staff. It’s easier to spar with, anyway.”

“Hey, your choice.”

On the inside, though, Sorey can’t help but be thankful for Mikleo’s choice. As much as he likes seeing him using a bow and arrow, he values the time spent sparring with him more than that.

 

* * *

 

True to his word, when they reach the world below a couple of years later, Mikleo continues to use his staff in battle. Sorey can always count on him to be at his left side, fending off the hellions as best he can with his seraphic artes, and often diving into the fray with martial artes. Part of Sorey feels a little bad, knowing what it’s like to be on the receiving end of those artes during their practice sessions.

Perhaps that’s why, during their argument, when his presence is missing for so many battles, Sorey feels a little off-balance.

(Though his eye might be partially to blame. Still, that doesn’t explain why having the aid of fire instead of water felt so strange when he explored the Vivia Subterranean Aqueduct with Lailah.)

In any case, he continues to fight regardless. It’s not like he has another choice, and besides, he’s the one who caused this situation to happen. He doesn’t regret it, either - he doesn’t want to push his burdens onto Mikleo. Not when Mikleo has his own dream to achieve.

Luckily, time passes quickly, in that period of absence. Pushed on by their wish to find a vessel for the guardian seraph, his party travel to the Galahad Ruins, an expedition made less exciting by a presence Sorey won’t admit to missing.

(It’s not like they can’t tell, though. Missing Mikleo is almost like a kind of homesickness. Even though he doesn’t let it show, he still feels a vacancy in his heart, something missing, a feeling which tugs at the bowstrings of his heart. He knows Mikleo will return, eventually, but that doesn’t stop the feeling from pervading his soul.)

A short ways into the ruins, they find a room dedicated solely to an altar holding a beautiful bow, sculpted from metals, painted blue like the waves it represents. It is the Divine Artifact for a water seraph, Lailah explains.

(And Sorey, despite himself, can’t help but remember halcyon days in the sun, watching as Mikleo’s small arms drew back the string of his bow. As little as he wants to burden Mikleo with becoming a Sub Lord, he can’t imagine armatizing with any other water seraph, especially with this bow; An artifact filled with memories and nostalgia, history Sorey sometimes wishes to repeat.

He carries on without looking back.)

Yet, it seems the bow is destined to come into his hand, for only a short time later, Mikleo bursts in, a tidal wave of stubborn energy and determination.

“Do you really think this is your dream alone?” Mikleo asks, and everything clicks in place.

Holding up his arm, he says, “This is our dream.”

With the Sub Lord pact made, Sorey doesn’t think twice before enacting the armatus, Mikleo’s true name spilling from his lips in a natural flow. A familiar sensation of coolness envelopes him, and suddenly he is not alone, the vacancy filled as everything slots into place. The bow falls into his right hand as if it was meant to be there.

“I’ll do the aiming,” Mikleo says, already getting into the left-handed shooting stance. The unspoken words ring through, and Sorey can’t help but grin.

“Alright,” Sorey says, letting Mikleo guide their arms to aim at one of the centipede hellions flanking them. “I’m counting on you.”

Together, they pull back a bolt of water on the bowstring to its full potential, hesitating only for a moment before letting it pierce the hellions. Energy flows through them, connecting them in harmony.

“Congrats, you finally hit the target,” Mikleo teases as they aim once more.

Sorey can’t help but grin. “Shut up.”

Together, they pierce the skies.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me [@luzrofrulay](http://twitter.com/luzrofrulay) on twitter / [@luzrof-rulay](http://luzrof-rulay.tumblr.com) on tumblr for more _Tales Of_ ramblings | [@randomactuallywrites-57](http://randomactuallywrites-57.tumblr.com) on tumblr for more writing!


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